


Compression

by LibertineFlake



Series: Robo Suffering [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Connor Deserves Happiness, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hank Anderson Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Whump, but first we make him sad, sumo mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertineFlake/pseuds/LibertineFlake
Summary: Objectively, Connor knew Hank was human, fallible, he was in his fifties and at a risk of numerous diseases as well as physical injury, and that if anything ever happened to him, he shouldn't be that surprised.Subjectively, it was shocking when it did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shoe on the other foot now, Hank's time to suffer.

For all the times Hank had dragged Connor out of trouble, all the times he'd darkly joked that Connor could lose an arm or a leg, and be in one piece the next day, they'd never talked about what would happen if it was the other way around.

As loose as Hank played with rules, he was still a good cop, he followed procedure, he didn't take stupid risks, and he made sure his men did the same. Hank was self-destructive, not stupid, and Connor couldn't ask for anyone better to watch his back, especially when he was still learning self-preservation as an instinct. Self-sacrifice had been programmed so deeply into him, it was hard to shake, but Hank was always there to grab him and tell him he was being stupid.

Objectively, Connor knew Hank was human, fallible, he was in his fifties and at a risk of numerous diseases as well as physical injury, and that if anything ever happened to him, he shouldn't be that surprised.

Subjectively, it was shocking when it did.

They weren't even supposed to be out that night like Hank had said, they should have been at home, Connor watching TV while Hank drank a beer.  
It was too damn cold for this kind of work, but Connor knew they'd regret it if they didn't follow the lead right now.

They weren't dressed for this kind of night, the weather had turned so suddenly, winter coming around again quicker than expected, and Hank had thought they'd be home by now.

The lead had come up good, so good that the potential suspect had bolted the second he realised they were DPD. Connor had started the pursuit, hearing Hank following behind, even on a cold night like this, he was still just about able to keep up, give or take several feet behind.

They rounded a corner onto another street, they had a straight line ahead, Connor could increase speed and tackle the suspect in approximately 2.9 seconds.

"Connor- Con wait!" Hank's voice.

As much as Connor respected Hank's orders, he would not have stopped if not for how strange he sounded. His voice was sharp and short, as though all the air had escaped his lungs and he was struggling to fill them again. Not the sound of a man out of shape, something more dangerous.

Connor stopped on a dime, from a full sprint to stock still, he turned, to see Hank leaning against the wall of a store they'd stopped beside.

"Is everything alright, Lieutenant?"

That's when Hank fell.

Connor lunged for him automatically, before he could even process what had happened, he caught his shoulders, a hand shooting to catch his head before any serious injury could occur. Hank crumpled, and Connor lowered him to the ground.

His first thought was irrational.

It wasn't that it _shouldn't_ be happening, it was that it _couldn't_ be happening because it wouldn't happen to Hank, not _Hank_ of all people. Hank wasn't a frail old man, as unfit as he complained he was, he was able to keep up with Connor as well as any human could be expected.

This couldn't be happening.

But it was.

"Lieutenant" Connor shook him hard, scanning in an instant, before raising his voice "Hank!"

Hank's heart had stopped.

It was a cold night and they'd started a full sprint from sitting in the car. Connor shouldn't have been so careless.

It took longer than it should have for him to realise his first aid protocol was engaging, instructions flying across his vision, pre-programmed knowledge flooding his mind.

Something programmed and mechanical taking over for a moment, he hadn't even released he'd started calling 911 until he started rattling off the information and their exact location.

_54-year-old male, collapsed after physical exertion in freezing conditions, suspected cardiac arrest, no pulse detected, beginning chest compressions._

Chest Compressions. He needed to begin chest compressions immediately. His hands were already moving as his mind argued with him, fighting to do the irrational. He wanted to grab him, cry and scream in his face and demand he wake up, even though he knew that it would do no good.

_Depress the chest at least two inches, continue compressions until emergency services arrive._

He could do this, this was just mechanics, he wouldn't get tired, he wouldn't have a margin for error, he could do this.

After a few pushes, Connor felt something crack under his hand, likely cartilage in the sternum, but the rhythm of his compressions hesitated for a moment, horrified that he'd hurt Hank.

_Continue compressions_

He continued.

"Please please please" he muttered, not sure what he was begging for, or to who.

_27% chance of survival._

Connor clenched his jaw, and for a split second wished he was still a machine, so that statistic wouldn't bother him. It was there to help, to try and help him determine the best approach, but it only panicked him more.

Chest compressions were vital, but he knew exactly how slim the chances of it saving him really were.

He told himself he was a machine, here to save this man's life, and he would succeed because he wasn't designed to fail. He repeated that over and over again in his mind because it was the only thought that didn't terrify him right now.

Don't think about who the man is, don't even think about who you are, just a machine here to save a man's life.

_Continue compressions._

He didn't realise there were people around him until they were right up in his face, someone was leaning close to try and get his attention, saying something to him. He heard every word, but he could barely understand any of the words, his mind taking in information without interpreting it.

"He's not breathing- he's not" he replied, unsure of whatever had just been said to him. His hands never stopped moving, never stopped compressions

The woman in front of him said something else, she just didn't understand, why didn't they understand?

_Continue compressions._

"please- he's not breathing" he begged.

Someone was pulling him away, and he started to struggle, didn't they understand, Hank wasn't breathing, his heart had stopped, he needed to continue compressions or-

"Connor- let them take over!"

The sound of his name broke through the panic driving him. Connor looked up, it was an officer from the station that was pulling him away, his recognition software should have kicked in, he knew their face, but couldn't find their name in his memory, everything was scrambled, conflicting priorities shouting over each other, demanding he save Hank.

Looking down, Hank was surrounded by paramedics, obscured from view by men and women in green jumpsuits, moving equipment to help him.  
Connor looked around, and his audio receptors began interpreting information again, blaring sirens, the sound of traffic roaring on the overpass nearby, drones fluttering above them.

"He's okay, he's gonna be fine, they've got it from here" The officer was saying to him, gripping his shoulder "Connor, are you alright?"

Numbly, he watched them lift Hank onto a stretcher, into the ambulance. From here, scans gave him no information on the older man's status. He didn't know if he was dead or alive. It didn't seem to matter, Connor wasn't certain any information could make this emotion stop.

Connor had been programmed to be able to express a full range of human emotions, to be able to blend in wherever he might be needed. Because of this, Connor knew he was capable of crying, but he had never actually done it before now. He wasn't even certain how to, not now he was deviant, it wasn't as simple as flicking a switch on and off any more.

But now, he didn't know when he had started, and he didn't know how to stop. He didn't sob, the simulation of breathing hadn't been affected, he just felt tears running down his cheeks, and he didn't know why.


	2. Chapter 2

They got a heartbeat.

That was all he could focus on right now. Before the ambulance had left, they'd gotten a heartbeat. He would have gone with him, he would have gone in the ambulance and stayed right beside him, but the officer and paramedics had exchanged a few words, and Connor could only deduce that they had decided he was a liability in his current state, too panicked to listen to instructions clearly, too shaken up by what had happened. 

So they followed behind in Hank's car, the officer driving with Connor in the passenger seat. It was a silent journey, Connor's gaze fixed ahead, hands resting in his lap, he looked and felt like a machine, numb and empty of any thought or feeling.

They let him see him for just a few moments on the ward, other patients were sleeping around them, Connor sat in the dark beside his bed. He scanned him, force of habit taking over, as though he would find something the doctor's missed. Hank would probably be in pain when he woke up, his rib was fractured, as Connor had guessed. He could still feel the sensation of something snapping under the pressure of his hands, it made him feel cold and shuddery, he wondered what humans meant when they said they felt sick to their stomach, and if it was anything like this. 

Hank's pulse was weak, but it was there, he was exhausted, and a nurse hovered near the door as if to remind him that he needed to let him rest.   
Connor reached out, touching his hand to Hank's bicep, squeezing his arm gently. Humans were so animated, even unconscious, Hank moved a little, breathing, mumbling, shifting his head or his hands in his sleep. It made Connor feel alien, removed and different, that he wasn't like this, couldn't be like this. He felt sorry for all the times Hank had been forced to see him, still as a corpse, unable to show any signs of life, even when his processes were firing in overtime, but his body was too damaged to show anything. Even when he rested at night, he was still, completely unmoving, the only thing that was human was the simulated breathing cycle, and even then it wasn't human enough, too even and rhythmic, too precise, too mechanical.

When Connor showed no signs of leaving, the nurse slowly approached, Connor expected to be chastised, or for her to sound irritated, impatient to be left alone to do her job. But she wasn't, her sympathy almost made him feel worse, though he couldn't explain why.

"We're going to take care of him, I promise," she said, her voice dropped to a whisper, a patient smile on her face "you should get some rest, and you can come back first thing in the morning"

_What if something happens? What if I'm not there?_

"I don't want to go home yet," Connor said quietly, his eyes not leaving Hank for a second. He was scared to go home, to try and continue a normal night, as though nothing had happened. Then he thought of Sumo, as relaxed as the dog usually was, he'd know something was wrong when neither of them had returned.

"I _should_ go home," he said. Another thing he had learned about being deviant, the things he wanted, weren't always the things he should do. That had been a hard lesson, he wished he didn't have to learn it this way.

The nurse smiled again, and Connor got to his feet.

He took a few more moments, looking at Hank sleeping, suddenly feeling intrusive and voyeuristic. He looked away, promising silently that he would be back first thing in the morning, it was the right thing to do, he had to go take care of Sumo, of himself too. He was no good to Hank like this.

"We'll call right away if there are any updates" she assured him, following him to the door "I'm on duty all night, I'll take care of him, don't worry" 

"Thank you," Connor said automatically, voice formal, back to feeling numb, social relations program taking over, he stopped himself from wishing her a goodnight, the social relations program stating it would be polite, but his feelings telling him it would be inappropriate and strange.

Connor walked down the long hospital hallways, at this time of night almost every ward was darkened, and every dim hall looked the same. He was almost surprised that he knew the way out because he hardly even remembered walking in, but his body never forgot, still a perfect machine, it knew the route out. Everything was too quiet, far too calm, the overwhelming urge to keep shouting for help was still inside him.

As he drove home, Connor couldn't recall a time Hank's car had ever been so quiet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took forever because I literally couldn't figure out how to end it, despite having the idea of how to end it already. I'm still learning how to do the comfort in hurt/comfort. One day I'll figure out fluff. Maybe not today though.

As Connor understood it, when humans didn't sleep through the night and were awake to see the sunrise, it didn't feel like a new day, without sleep it just felt like one long awful night, no matter how light outside it was.

The sky was still dark when he'd arrived home, sunrise a long way off in the dead of winter. He heard the sound of Sumo pacing and barking gently behind the front door, impatient at hearing Hank's car pulling in.

Connor stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and sank to his knees, throwing his arms around the dog and squeezing him tightly. Sumo was happy enough to accept the affection, leaning all his weight against him, flopping into his arms as though unaware of his massive size. Connor didn't mind, it was nice.  
He sat like that for a while, on the floor at the front door, hugging Sumo.

Hank would likely be in the hospital for a few days and nights, he'd need some of his things.  
He got to his feet, poured some food in Sumo's bowl, and got to work.

As Connor filled an overnight bag he'd dug out with clean shirts and pants, toiletries he'd need. He considered that for an android, he'd never actually been quite so domestic. He wasn't designed for it, he was capable of it, but it wasn't his intended use. Maybe that was why he enjoyed it 

Other deviants didn't seem to miss being a machine, but Connor found comfort in letting practicality take over, the meditative calm of achieving simple tasks, being efficient without thought. It reminded him of the blissful ignorance he had before deviancy, the total lack of worry or stress, but unlike before, packing a bag or washing dishes did not have moral dilemmas that could send him into a series of irrational rationalisations. This was so much more safe and comforting than the panic he'd discovered he was capable of.

And it was just about the only thing he could actually do in the face of what had happened.

The bubble of calm popped instantly, and Connor closed his eyes.

Now he imagined these strange new circumstances being forever. Hank gone, leaving him alone in the house, just Sumo, who would also leave him eventually. Was Connor supposed to continue on indefinitely? Waiting for something to kill him, in place of natural causes? Or would he end up like Hank had been when they met, desperate to leave because someone he cared about had left before him? Connor glanced at the kitchen table.

 _Bad idea_.

He'd hardly spent an hour in the house without Hank, and already he was having an existential crisis about his own mortality, or immortality.

He wanted this night, or this morning, to be over. He finished packing, throwing a few books into the bag for good measure, ones he had seen Hank read and re-read with no diminishing enjoyment. Then he changed into sweats and a hoodie, turned the lights off, planted himself on the couch with Sumo and closed his eyes.

No more thinking. He would see Hank in the morning, and everything would be okay.  
It had to be.

 

Connor arrived at the hospital ward at exactly eight in the morning. He was expected, the overnight nurse had listed him as Hank's next of kin. Something about that fact made Connor feel prideful, though he couldn't quite explain why.

He signed in at the desk and made his way to Hank's room, pausing to straighten his tie, adjust his jacket, before he went in.

The first thing Connor did when he walked into Hank's room was the last thing he had expected, he smiled.

Hank was awake, though tired, propped up, eyes half open.

The jittery feeling that he'd had since he arrived never left his limbs, but he felt a little better.

"How do you feel?" Connor decided to skip saying  _good morning,_ Hank didn't like a cheery attitude on the best of days.

"Peachy" Hank grumbled, opening one eye "you look like shit"

Connor looked down at himself, he'd forgone ironing his shirt this morning, but other than that, everything else was pristine as usual.  
Hank seemed to enjoy pointing out when Connor had the tiniest thing out of place, because it was the closest to dishevelled he ever really got, the android had a lot of pride in his appearance, maybe before deviancy it had been programmed into him, professionalism above all, but now he really did seem to care about looking neat and presentable.

"I brought some of your things" Connor said, lifting the bag on his shoulder

"Thanks"

Connor dropped the bag by the bed, and pulled up the chair beside him, taking a seat.

"Sumo okay?"

Connor nodded, he didn't have the energy to elaborate further.

"Maybe you can smuggle him in, would make this place a little less boring" Hank tried to joke, but Connor had his eyes cast down, head hung a little. His LED pulsed red.

"Connor?" he sat up a little more, wincing as a spike of pain hit his ribs, Connor's head snapping up to look at him as he did.

"Are you alright?" Connor asked, sharply, panic touching his voice.

"It's fine, just my chest," Hank said, a hand gently resting over the rib Connor had injured the night before.

"I fractured your rib while performing chest compressions," Connor said quietly, his tone of voice like a child confessing to a crime.

Hank looked stunned for a moment, before smiling, bemused.

"So that's why you got a face like a smacked ass right now" Hank nodded "don't worry about it, it'll heal, Connor"

"But you're in pain"

Hank smiled at him "you think I got to this age without living through some pain?" he shook his head "trust me, I've had worse"

"You nearly died," Connor said "you did die, your heart stopped-"

"Connor"

"-for four minutes and twenty-eight seconds, any longer than that and you might have-"

"Connor, shut the fuck up, alright?" he said, there was still a hint of a smile on his face, too tired to seem harsh in any way. "It's fine, it doesn't matter, I'm alive"

He said it so dismissively, he didn't seem to understand. Connor couldn't make sense of why Hank could lecture Connor about self-preservation, and then be so resigned about the thought of his own death. Connor kept thinking about the revolver on the kitchen table, thinking that maybe they hadn't moved beyond that at all.

"We've been through this before, shit happens," Hank said. He was equating this to Connor being injured, as though this was anything like damage being caused to his body, but this had been nonsensical, it came from nowhere and almost took everything.

Connor felt angry.

"It's not the same if I'm damaged, I don't feel pain, not the way you do, and I can be repaired, defective biocomponents can be replaced" his voice was harsher, under more pressure than he had expected, he didn't sound like himself.

"And you think that makes it any easier when you drop huh?" Hank said, seeming to miss Connor's point again.

"It's different" Connor insisted

"How is it different?"

"Because I'm-" he cut himself off. He had been about to say something that he wasn't aware he still believed, he hadn't realised there was a part of him that still thought of himself as replaceable.

_A machine replacing another machine._

Cyberlife wouldn't send Hank a replacement, and even then, it wouldn't be Connor, it would be someone else, with his face and memories. He knew that already. So why did he think that his life was more disposable than Hank's?

Because he wouldn't age or decay? That wasn't entirely true, he just had a much longer lifespan than a human, CyberLife guaranteed to operate autonomously for 173 years at least.

But Connor could malfunction, he knew his body had the potential to fail him, statistically, it was less likely to happen to him than it was to Hank, but the probability was there.

_Nothing very logical about it._

Maybe he was being selfish, the idea of his own mortality was easier to swallow than the possibility of facing Hank's.

"What, Connor?" Hank pushed, Connor stood up, turning his back, he clasped his hands behind his back.

Hank knew he was a good detective, of course, he knew where his thoughts had gone to. But he didn't understand. He thought this was about the mission, his tendency to self-sacrifice, to blame himself for perceived failure. Connor didn't want to be comforted, not for that. He didn't deserve it.

"Connor" Hank sighed, Connor heard him shifting in the bed, sitting up, kicking his legs off the side.

"We all gotta die someday, kid. It'll always be sooner than you want it to be."

Connor had heard something similar once, he hadn't understood it then.

He wanted to reply, tell him he knew that, he understood mortality, and that this wasn't about that.

"But that's not what you're upset about, is it?"

He really was a good detective. Or maybe he just knew him too well.

Connor turned to look at him.

It was irrational and random, it was a statistic that Connor could predict but never really considered happening, things had gone from being simple equations and calculations to the worst thing Connor had ever felt.

"I was scared," he said "and I don't know what to do if- when you-"

Hank put his hand on Connor's shoulder, silencing him instantly. He shook him gently, fondness in the gesture.

"Shit happens," Hank said quietly "but dying isn't on my to-do list any time soon"

That's all he wanted to hear.

Connor stepped forwards and hugged him immediately.

Neither of them could promise anything, but this was the closest to a guarantee that Connor could get from him. That he wouldn't rush to it, that he didn't want to leave him.

"Careful, careful" Hank breathed, sounding strained, keeping distance between their chests to save his fractured rib more pain. Connor felt Hank's hand rest on the back of his head, patting gently, instantly calming him.  
"My boy" he heard him mutter, his voice somewhere between annoyed and fond. "For a genius, you're a fucking idiot, son"

Connor didn't say anything, just shut his eyes. Hank had a heartbeat, he was alive and breathing for now, and that was all that mattered.

 


End file.
